


a prayer for you, a prayer or two

by glitteringconstellations



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Catholicism, First Kiss, Fluff, Getting Together, Happy Birthday Lance 2020, Keith pines like a champ, Lance is Catholic you can’t change my mind, M/M, Mention of sex toys, Religion, Teeny tiny smidgeon of angst, a healthy dose of humorous blasphemy, no religion isn’t the focus of the fic, set during s2
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-30
Updated: 2020-07-30
Packaged: 2021-03-06 05:15:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,779
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25607971
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/glitteringconstellations/pseuds/glitteringconstellations
Summary: It starts with a conversation.“Catholic? I thought that all of our Paladins were humans.”“Oh, no, Catholicism is a religion. You know, worship of a deity, belief in a creation mythos, that sort of thing. Lance grew up with a super devout family. Never missed Sunday Mass at the Garrison. It was his way of staying connected with home so far away.”It starts with a conversation, and ends with Keith trying to bring Lance a tiny piece of home, so very far away from home.
Relationships: Keith/Lance (Voltron)
Comments: 19
Kudos: 205





	a prayer for you, a prayer or two

It starts out as a conversation. 

No, that’s not quite right. It starts out before that conversation. It’s what prompts the conversation in the first place. It starts when Coran asks Keith to go and fetch Lance for some reason or another. 

Keith goes, of course. He doesn’t need a reason to seek Lance out. The bickering, the name-calling, the teasing, the riling—excuses, one and all, just to be near Lance. They’ve gotten better, over time, their spats turning into something closer to friendly and less antagonistic. Keith will have it all, the good and the bad, whatever Lance will give him. 

This time it’s sort of in the middle. He finds Lance knelt beside his bed, eyes closed and hands clasped together. He murmurs aloud, though what words Keith catches, he doesn’t understand. 

“ _…contigo nada me falta. En verdes praderas me haces descansar, a las aguas tranquilas me conduce._ ” 

Keith knocks on the wall quietly, trying not to startle Lance. “Hey. Coran sent me to get you. He needs your help with something.” 

Lance’s eyebrow twitches, though he doesn’t otherwise acknowledge Keith’s arrival. Instead he continues his quiet murmur. “ _Aunque pase por el más oscuro de los valles, no temeré peligro alguno, porque tú, Dios mío, estás conmigo._ ” 

Keith crosses his arms and leans against the doorway. “What are you even doing?” 

“Praying,” says Lance, in English, peeling just one eye open and casting a sideways glance up at Keith. “What did Coran say he needed me for?”

“He didn’t.”

“And you didn’t ask?”

“It just didn’t seem like important information!” Keith huffs, tightening his arms, defensive.

Lance snorts at him, closing his eye again and turning back to his clasped hands. “I’ll be out as soon as I’m done here. Go and tell him for me, would you?”

The thing is, Keith doesn’t want to. He’d rather stay here and listen to the mesmerizing sound of Lance speaking what he now recognizes as Spanish, the lilting way his mother language rolls off of his tongue like a melody. Even if he doesn’t understand a lick of it.

But he goes. He turns and gives Lance a dismissing wave that Lance doesn’t see, the sound of Lance’s prayers following him down the corridor as he leaves.

“ _Tu bondad y tu amor me acompañan a lo largo de mis días, y en tu casa, Dios mío, por siempre viviré. Amén._ ”

He returns to the common room, where Coran peers down over a project spread out over the floor, Hunk and Pidge fiddling with this and that under his direction. 

“Ah, good timing, Number Four!” Coran exclaims, hearing Keith enter. His moustache twitches in confusion when he sees Keith is alone. “But where is Number Three?” 

“He’s praying,” Keith says with a shrug. The couch is free, so he moves to sit down on it, leaning back and propping his arms up on the backrest. “Said he’ll be coming as soon as he’s finished.” 

Coran blinks at him. “Praying? Whatever for?”

Hunk perks up, siting up straighter and stretching. “Oh, that’s right, it’s Sunday by Earth reckoning, isn’t it?” At Coran’s tilt of the head, Hunk explains further. “Lance is Catholic.”

“Cath-oh-leek?” says Coran, the words foreign on his tongue. “But I thought all of our Paladins were humans.” 

Pidge barks out a laugh, pushing her glasses up her nose. “No, no, Catholicism is a religion. You know, worship of a deity, belief in a certain creation mythos, that sort of thing.” 

Hunk nods along. “Lance grew up with a super devout family. He never missed a Mass when we were at the Garrison. He even gave up flirting for Lent one year.” 

Trying and failing to stifle her roaring laughter, Pidge falls into Hunk’s side. “You’re joking! Man, I would have paid good money to see that.” 

“Mass? Lint?” Coran only grows more lost by the minute. “I’m afraid I’ve little idea what you’re talking about. I am no stranger to worship, though I find it rather silly to devote so much time and energy to something that no one can prove exists.” 

At this, Hunk softens slightly. “Yeah. I’m not a religious person myself, but for people like Lance, it’s a huge comfort, you know? That something bigger than yourself is out there watching over you.”

It prompts a spirited debate over the possibility of God, or something like it, really existing somewhere out in the cosmos. About the different kinds of religions practiced on Earth, and explainations of what Hunk has learned from Lance about Catholicism in general. Keith listens with feigned disinterest, curious more now about this part of Lance he otherwise knew nothing of. 

And then Coran mentions something about a people he once knew, long ago, that used worship totems in their religions. Hunk nods along enthusiastically.

“Yeah, that’s not unusual,” says Hunk. “For example, Lance had a rosary he got for his Confirmation—that’s coming of age in the Church. Beautiful thing his parents got from a pilgrimage to the Vatican, the holy city. He almost never left the dorm without it. It was his little piece of home away from home. Except the night we snuck out, he left it. Said he didn’t want to lose it.” 

They need no further explanation as to what happened after that. That they all sit here, on a ship adrift in space light years away, explains more than enough. 

Gears click into place and begin to turn in Keith’s head, though, even as the conversation moves on to other things. 

It’s no secret that Lance misses home. Anyone with eyes can see that, and Keith doesn’t need to revisit the mind meld helmet to know just how much family means to Lance. Not when he hears Lance talking to his mother every night through their shared wall as though she is there beside him. 

It starts with this conversation. Keith decides he’s going to bring Lance a piece of home to this, their new home away from home, so very far away.

—

First stop: Space Mall. 

The Earth shop is Keith’s destination, though he has to make several laps around the mall to make sure that Lance and Pidge are long gone. They always make a beeline straight for it to check for any new releases (and by new releases, he means woefully outdated games slapped on the ‘just arrived’ shelf). 

The same laid-back shopkeeper greets him when he walks in. Keith manages a shaky wave and begins his search through the shelves and glass cases which line the tiny shop, wares as varied and eclectic as ever. Some grandma’s old china, a pair of knitting needles labeled as ‘children’s jousting set,’ a squishy bath mat with those shaggy bulbs on them to soak up water. 

Nothing screams out as a rosary to him, or anything remotely like one. 

(He pretends he didn’t pull Hunk aside and ask him what a rosary looked like.)

By his third trip through the store, the shopkeeper starts following him, pointing out random things he thinks might interest Keith. When it becomes clear Keith isn’t going to find what he needs on these shelves, he asks him straight up, “Is there something in particular you had in mind?” 

Keith straightens from the glass case and sighs. “I’m looking for a rosary. For a friend.” 

The shopkeeper blinks. “I’m afraid I don’t know what that is.” 

“It’s a... worship prayer idol... thing?” says Keith. “But it looks almost like a necklace, or something like it. It’s got beads threaded together by wire or string and a large... um, pendant? Kind of dangling off one point, that you’re supposed to hold it by.”

A metaphorical lightbulb dings to life over the shopkeeper’s head, his face lighting up in recognition. “Oh! I know just the thing. Unfortunately I don’t carry such goods at my shop.” 

Keith tries not to look too disappointed. “It’s okay, it was a long shot anyway—”

“But you should try Respence’s shop down the way,” the shopkeeper adds amiably. “Follow the hall until you pass the food court and make a right, it’s a little out of the way hidden by the Frond trees. I’m sure he’ll have just what you’re looking for.” 

He hurries Keith out on his way, and Keith wonders if he imagines the wiggling of his eyebrows at him or if that’s just the alien’s face doing its thing. Keith follows the directions given, finding the shop tucked away almost in the shadow of the mall awning. It had a seedy vibe to it, and Keith thinks he might have gotten it wrong, but the sign reads, in faded Galra script, “RESPENCE’S SPLENDORS.” 

“Must be the right place,” Keith mutters, and steps inside. 

The smell of leather and almost something rubbery affronts his nostrils and he wrinkles his nose. The shop is no bigger than the Earth store, but unlike the other shop, this one has no goods on visible display. Instead dark cabinets lined the walls with sliding doors. 

“Welcome, welcome to my ssssshop!” a slithery voice beckons, and out steps a tall, thin alien with slits for eyes and sporting a whopping six sets of arms. The alien easily stands at the same height as the cabinets. “What sssssplendors might I asssssist you in finding today?”

“Uh, another shopkeeper sent me here,” says Keith, throwing a thumb over his shoulder. “He says you sell rosaries.” 

“I beg your pardon?”

“A rosary. It’s a beaded thing on a string with a—”

“Ah, yes, sssssay no more,” says Respence. His slitted eyes rove Keith up and down in a manner that makes his skin crawl. “Might this be for yourssssself or for sssssomeone else?” 

“It’s a gift,” Keith says shortly. “Does it really matter?” 

Respence chuckles in a way that sounds like air hissing through a leaky valve. “Of course it does,” he says, moving to a door that leads into the back of his shop. “I wouldn’t want to sssssell you anything of the incorrect sssssize. I’ll be but a moment.”

That... isn’t the answer Keith expects. Aren’t rosaries a universal thing, for the most part? He rolls his shoulders as though that might slough off the anxiousness he feels, shifting from foot to foot while he waits.

“Pleasssssure is sssssuch an important assssspect of life,” Respence says from the back. His voice grows louder as draws nearer. “I have brought an array of sssssizes so that you might determine—”

Keith’s eyes bug out of his skull when Respence returns, staring at the merchandise in the alien’s many hands. Stares, gulps, and heavens help him, imagines for a moment actually _using_ one of them on Lance.

Then he shakes his head, his cheeks flaming scarlet. “N-never mind!” he chokes out, his voice cracking up an octave. “That’s not what I’m looking for. Have a nice day!”

He turns on his heel and marches out of there, determinedly trying to scrub the image of the confused shopkeeper standing there with a dozen sets of anal beads in an assortment of sizes and colors from his mind.

He can’t look Lance in the eye on the shuttle back to the Castle later that night. 

—

So if Keith can’t find a rosary out in space, he’ll just have to make one. 

Easier said than done. 

The first thing he does is raid the Castle. There are a plethora of forgotten treasures aboard that the others have dug up along the way. The pajamas and those ridiculous Lion slippers, for instance. Surely he can find something to use to make a rosary. 

He’s elbow-deep in a pile of embroidered and bedazzled formal wear and scrutinizing one piece at arm’s length. So lost in his thoughts about deconscructing said piece to use for beads, he doesn’t hear Allura approaching until she squeals in delight from behind him.

Keith jumps about a foot in the air, whirling around as Allura approaches, a hand outstretched to take the fabric from his hands.

“Let me see that!” 

Her entire being lights up as she reverently strokes the cloth. 

“Oh, wonderful! You’ve found the diplomat attire! Coran and I have been looking for _ages_. Oh, please do help me carry these to the upper quarters, we must get everyone fitted right away!” 

Keith splutters, muttering something about being busy, but Allura won’t have it. They’ve been doing diplomatic stuff in their armor for the time being, but it’s neither comfortable nor practical in the long run. 

By the end of the day, Keith never wants to see another sequin again. At least Allura doesn’t think to ask him what he was doing in the Castle’s wardrobes in the first place.

— 

The next plan fares slightly better than the first. He makes the mistake of asking Pidge for some of her spare parts. Pidge levels him with narrowed eyes, suspicious. 

“What for?” she asks. 

“Uh,” says Keith intelligently. He hasn’t planned for her interrogating him. “Stuff?”

“Stuff,” repeats Pidge. She’s unimpressed. “Yeah, I don’t think so. I don’t just keep things for shits and giggles, I keep them so we have parts to fix the Lions.” 

The thing is, the girl is a hoarder. Things go to her room to die. Sure, her workstation in the Lions’ hangar might have stuff that could be useful for their upkeep and maintenance, but surely she can spare some bits and bobs. It’s for Lance! Not that Keith would ever tell _her_ that. She’d hold it over his head until the day he dies. 

So he waits until Hunk calls her down for some project or another, waits until her footsteps stop echoing off the walls, and slips into her room unnoticed. As expected, it looks like a tornado hit. Clothes strewn everywhere, books and parts stacked into precarious towers around the room. There’s barely a path for walking and a small spot clear on the bed for sleeping. 

Seriously, when Lance calls Pidge a gremlin, Keith doesn’t think he means it literally, but here is proof she might actually be one.

He looks around and spies the trash effigies she made of himself and the others while she was stranded. Beside them, a pile of bolts and washers lay scattered about, along with something he thinks at first is wire, but turns out to be a very fine string of metal maybe two or three feet long. He calls it string, because it acts like string, limp and shapeless and easily formed into a knot. 

Bingo. 

Grabbing the lot of it, nuts, bolts, and string all, Keith absconds to his room and quickly deposits ill-gotten gains into a drawer in his desk. 

For a hot moment, Keith thinks he’s gotten away with it. It’s for a good cause, he thinks, and Pidge won’t notice just a few things missing.

Except at dinner the next night, when it’s just the two of them left at the table, she calls him out. 

“You can keep the stuff you took this time,” she says casually around a bite of goo. “But the next time you break into my room, you won’t live long enough to know what hit you.” 

Keith’s jaw drops as she stands to put her bowl in the sink, staring at her back. Instead of doing the smart thing and going with plausible deniability, he opens his mouth and says, “How...?” You know, like an idiot. 

There’s no way she actually noticed a handful of bolts and a length of fucking string missing from her room. 

Pidge stares at him, her face utterly impassive. “I have my ways.” She points two fingers at her eyes, then swivels them around at Keith. Then she leaves the room without another word. 

Keith leaves the kitchen feeling vaguely afraid for his life. 

—

After that, Keith sort of... forgets about the whole idea. 

Not intentionally so. It’s just that, with Olkarion liberated and the whole recruiting the Blade of Marmora, their duties multiply faster than Keith can really keep up with. They have plans to make, Galra bases to raid, and so little time to do it. 

Keith runs for his life, cutting through sentry after sentry that stand between him and freedom. Lance runs hot on his heels, taking out the ones Keith misses with well-timed shots. 

“Keep running!” he cries, and stabs another sentry. 

“I _am_ running!” Lance cries back, and shoots down two more. 

“Well, run faster! They’re gaining on us!”

They just have to make it to the cliffs. The Lions will catch them from there. Five hundred feet. Two hundred and fifty. A hundred feet. He’s waiting for the roar, but it hasn’t come. 

Fifty feet. Fourty feet. Thirty feet.

Where are the Lions?

Twenty-five feet. 

“Keith, what do we do?” Lance shouts, shooting over his shoulder. 

Fifteen feet. Ten feet. It’s either surrender to the Galra or—

“Jump!” 

Keith launches himself over the cliff’s edge first, stowing his bayard and grabbing Lance around the middle in one fluid motion. Lance does the same, his bulky gun vanishing in favor of clinging to Keith for dear life. The ground rushes towards them, closer, closer—

“Jetpacks!” Keith screams. 

Simultaneously he and Lance fire up their jetpacks full blast, right at the very last minute. Though the jetpacks slow their fall, they hit the ground with enough force that it sends them rolling, tumbling over each other until the velocity rips Lance from Keith’s arms. Keith rolls and rolls, his body getting banged up along the way, until at last he slows to a stop some distance away from Lance. 

A groan slips out of him, sore and aching from head to toe as he pulls himself up on hand and knee. “You alright, Lance?” he croaks. 

“Peachy,” Lance rasps back. He hasn’t moved, laying spread eagle out on the ground, but he lifts a hand in a thumbs up. “Just... give me a minute for the world to stop spinning, would you?” 

Right. Keith sits back on his heels and surveys the area. They’ve left the verdant jungle the Galra base is situated in and landed somewhere on a rocky stretch of flatland. 

Then Keith really _looks_ , really comprehends what he’s seeing, and he can’t stop the small gasp that escapes his lips. 

What at first he thought were just regular rocks and sand, are actually millions upon millions of red pebbles, glittering in the evening sunslight. They cover the ground in every direction as far as the eye can see, and when Keith scoops a handful to bring in for closer inspection, they shimmer almost like glass. 

All at once Keith’s plan comes back to him full force, and a stupid grin splits his face from ear to ear. 

He begins taking fistfuls of the pebbles and putting them in one of the pouches on his utility belt. When he fills the first one, he fills another, just to be on the safe side. He isn’t sure exactly how many he’ll need, so better to have too much than not enough.

“What are you doing?” 

Keith freezes, caught red-handed in behavior he realizes now must seem... out of character. Lance is sitting up now and he’s looking at him worriedly, maybe wondering if Keith hit his head too hard in the fall. 

“I, uh,” he stammers, floundering for any excuse. All he can come up with is, “I like rocks.” 

Lance’s eyebrows shoot up in disbelief, and Keith clears his throat sheepishly. “What? They’re pretty. See?” He holds one of the bigger pebbles up for Lance to get a better look. 

“...Pretty. Right,” Lance says. His lips pull back into a thin line, like he’s got more he wants to say but doesn’t know if he should. Keith shoves the last fistful into his pouch and closes it with a snap. 

“We should find out where the others are and why the Lions didn’t come.” He pushes himself up to his feet, limping over to Lance and holding out a hand to help him up. Lance eyes the hand warily, looking between it and Keith’s expectant face, before he finally takes it. The worried pinch to his brow doesn’t quite go away.

“All right. Lead the way, Samurai.” 

—

“You want my tools.”

“I want to _borrow_ your tools,” says Keith. 

Hunk raises a skeptical eyebrow. “The same way you borrowed parts from Pidge’s room?” 

Keith flushes, fiddling with the hem of his jacket. “That was different.”

“Uh-huh,” says Hunk. He stands akimbo, regarding Keith with a very give-me-a-break look. Keith tries not to wilt beneath that look. Honestly, Hunk can be as scary as Pidge sometimes, when he wants to.

There’s not a snowball’s chance in hell he’s buying any of this. Hunk sighs.

“This wouldn’t have anything to do with the fact that Lance’s birthday is coming up, would it?” 

Keith’s head snaps up. Wait, what? “Lance’s birthday? When’s his birthday?”

“July 28th.”

Why had he not known that? Keith feels a little bit like dying. “What day is it today?”

The stare Hunk gives him is a cross between scrutinizing and incredulous. “You’re joking, right?” Keith doesn’t say anything. His silence speaks deafening volumes. “You’re serious.” 

“Just let me borrow the tools,” Keith pleads, his heart thumping painfully in his chest. A new sense of urgency blossoms behind his ribs. “I promise to take good care of them and I’ll give them back as soon as I’m done.” 

“And leave you to your own devices—unsupervised, might I add—with power tools you’ve never used before? I don’t think so.” 

“Hunk, _please_ —”

Hunk’s smile might have been comforting if it wasn’t so deviously gleeful. “I didn’t say you couldn’t use them. I’ll help you with whatever you need done.” 

Keith can’t believe it. “Really?” This seems too good to be true. 

“Really,” Hunk says with a nod. He throws an arm around Keith’s shoulder, leading the way down to his corner of the workshop he shares with Pidge. “And I’ll even do you the favor of not breathing a word to Lance. Which, you know is a big deal, considering I tell him everything.” 

“It’s not—!” 

“Oh please,” Hunk laughs, squeezing Keith’s shoulder a little too tight for comfort. “A blind man could see you pining after him from a mile away. Now, you have to tell me _everything_ you have planned for this secret not-birthday present.” 

Keith pales. “I’m going to regret this, aren’t I?” 

—

Keith only gets in on the surprise birthday party preparations at the last minute, and only because no one else can think of a way to get Lance out of the common room without it being suspicious. Keith is a little bitter that no one thought to tell him the party is even happening. Honestly, were they just going to tell him to show up and be surprised with Lance?

So Keith, being Keith, makes Lance train. On his birthday. Which he found out is Lance’s birthday less than a week ago. Yeah, only a little a bitter.

Lance complains the whole time, as usual, but hasn’t said anything about his birthday at all. Maybe Keith doesn’t expect him to shout it from the rooftops, but Lance doesn’t so much as breathe a word about it. 

Maybe he thinks they forgot about it. Keith can’t have that. 

“Hey, Lance,” he says, once they’re both showered and dressed and relaxing with some water pouches before heading upstairs. Lance hums around his straw in question, peeking up at him. 

“Happy birthday.” 

Lance looks taken aback, and yep. He totally thought they forgot. But then a brilliant smile dawns on Lance’s face as he lowers the pouch from his mouth, making Keith’s stomach do somersaults. 

“Thanks, man.” He leans in to elbow Keith in good humor. “So where’s my present, huh?” 

Keith rolls his eyes, smiling in spite of the way his heart picks up the pace. “What makes you think I got you a present?” 

“Because you love me,” Lance quips back, and Keith chokes on his water. Lance’s ensuing laugh, hearty and full of mirth, makes the fluttering in his chest intensify. “I’m teasing! Jeez, don’t die on me, Mullet. We need you.” 

Even when Keith catches his breath and gives him a half-hearted glare, Lance is still smiling at him. “Seriously, I was kidding about the present. Just being around to see another birthday when we’re fighting a war is present enough.” 

Oof, Keith didn’t expect this conversation to take such a serious turn. Lance’s smile turns wistful, a little sad, but no less genuine. Nope. Keith isn’t having any of that. 

He clears his throat, reaching into his pocket and pulling out a carefully wrapped box, tied with a blue ribbon. “That’s too bad. I don’t know what to do with this gift, then.” 

Lance stares at the box in Keith’s outstretched hand. Then to Keith’s face, then back to the box, then back to the hand. 

“You... you really got me a gift?” 

Keith can’t take the intensity of Lance’s stare just then, and looks away. Pink dusts the apples of his cheeks. “If you don’t want it...” he mumbles, trailing off.

“No, no!” Lance says, quickly accepting the box. “I just... wasn’t expecting it, that’s all.” 

Keith doesn’t watch as Lance unties the ribbon, can’t bring himself to watch as he lifts the lid. He hears the intake of breath, a sharp gasp, and clenches his hands into tight fists in his lap. Braces himself, before glancing out of his peripheral at Lance. 

From Lance’s hand dangles the hand-made rosary. A rosary made of fire-red pebbles that looks like glass, each and every one hand-drilled and strung. Lance takes the crucifix in the palm of his hand to inspect it, forged from two bolts melted and smoothed into the shape of a cross, the largest and shiniest of the red pebbles affixed to the centerpoint where the two bolts intersect. 

“You...” Lance murmurs, his voice quiet. Awed. He doesn’t take his eyes off the rosary. “Did you make this?” 

“Yeah,” Keith admits, turning his eyes back to the floor. “I had help, though. Hunk didn’t trust me alone with a soldering iron. And Pidge, uh, gave me some of the materials.”

A garbled laugh comes out of Lance. “It’s got the wrong number of beads,” he says, still hushed, almost reverent. “And the—the Decades are in the wrong places, and—”

“I did the best I could for not knowing what a rosary was until three months ago!” Keith says, defensive. 

“—and it’s perfect.” 

Hold on. Back up. What? Keith looks up at Lance at last, and, oh God. “Are you _crying_?”

Lance finally tears his eyes away from the rosary and yeah, he’s definitely crying, but a smile so big it splits his face from ear to ear catches Keith by surprise and knocks the wind clean out of him. 

“I don’t know how you thought of this,” Lance says, his eyes glittering with unshed tears. He holds the rosary between both palms like something precious. “But it’s perfect. I love it. Thank you, Keith.” 

Lance scoots closer on the bench to wrap his arms around Keith in a fierce hug, the rosary still clasped in one hand. Keith’s hands come up half a measure later, returning the hug in equal measure. Lance trembles in his embrace, no doubt trying to stifle emotionally-overwrought tears, and yet when he pulls away, his smile dazzles like the morning sun. 

And Keith—well. Keith doesn’t really know what possesses him to lean in and press a kiss to that smile. 

It lasts only a moment, and yet in that moment time screeches to a halt, and he feels nothing but the warmth of Lance’s chapped lips against his own.

Time resumes, and Keith comes back into himself when Lance doesn’t move, stunned stiff. Keith recoils, horrified that he acted without thinking, and tries to move away. 

“Shit, I’m so sorry,” he stutters, face burning hot with humiliation. “I didn’t mean—I mean, I don’t want you to think I did this expecting—ugh. Just, I’m sorry, you can pretend this—”

Lance’s free hand shoots out and seizes him by the wrist. In his surprise Keith barely manages to counteract the sharp tug Lance gives it, shifting his balance so that he just flops back down on the bench instead of falling on his ass to the floor. He blinks at Lance. 

“What—”

“Shut up and kiss me,” says Lance.

He tugs Keith by the wrist once more, this time not stopping until he has Keith’s lips on his again. The hand with the rosary comes up and tangles in Keith’s hair and pulls him closer. Keith’s wide eyes fall shut and he tilts his head, their lips sliding together in unison.

“You don’t get,” Lance says between a kiss, pulling only far enough away to speak, “to do something so sweet and thoughtful.” Another kiss. “And make me fall even harder for you.” And another. “And then pretend like you didn’t just make my life.” 

When at last they pull away, panting for breath, Lance is all but sitting in Keith’s lap, his arms loosely draped over Keith’s shoulders. Keith’s hands grip Lance firmly but gently by the hips, holding him securely. When did that even happen?

“Wow,” Keith breathes. He feels kissed stupid. 

Lance laughs, bright and loud. “Yeah. Wow.” 

“Am I dreaming?” 

“You better not be,” says Lance. “Because that means I’m dreaming, and I don’t want this to be a dream.”

Keith leans forward until their foreheads are pressed together. His eyes search Lance’s, still shining in the fluorescent light of the training room. If only this moment could last forever. 

“The others are working on a surprise party,” he blurts out. “We were supposed to be up there about twenty minutes ago.” He says it with regret, not for spoiling the surprise, but for spoiling the moment. 

To his surprise, Lance snorts. “I should have known. Hunk never lets a birthday go cake-less if he can help it.” He sits up a little straighter, using the hand not holding the rosary (still holding the rosary!) to tuck a strand of hair behind Keith’s ear. “I promise I’ll act surprised. We can even re-wrap your gift so they don’t know you gave it to me.” 

“Thanks,” Keith says. “You don’t have to go that far, though.” He’s already in for a world of hurt with the others for making them late. 

“Should we head up there now, then?” 

“Probably.” 

Neither of them move. Both of them wait for the other to move first. Neither of them want to move. 

Finally, Lance removes himself from Keith’s lap and hauls Keith to his feet. He doesn’t let go of Keith’s hand, instead lacing their fingers together, and leads them from the training room. Keith feels that stupid grin of his coming back on his face. 

When they get to the common room, Lance winks conspiratorially at him. Keith rolls his eyes fondly and swipes his hand on the door lock. The lights flicker to life.

“Surprise!” shout the others. Poppers pop, balloons fall, confetti rains down on them both.

Lance acts appropriately shocked, a delighted grin illuminating his face. Keith suspects Lance is still surprised by the lengths the others went to for his birthday. 

“You guys!” Lance laughs, eyes flickering like he doesn’t know where to look. “You didn’t have to do all this!”

Then eagle-eyed Pidge zeroes in on their linked hands and screeches. Keith has the good sense enough to look sheepish as he lifts the hands in question for all to see. 

“Surprise?”

“So _that’s_ why you were late!” 

“Not cool, dude!” 

“I suspected there were stronger feelings between you two.”

“Congratulations are in order, it seems!” 

Lance spares Keith the worst of the scolding, redirecting attention back to the party. He puts on his persona, the loud and boisterous and begins demanding cake, and it works well enough that everyone knows exactly what he’s doing. 

Even when Keith reluctantly lets go of Lance’s hand so that he can eat and open his gifts, the warmth of it lingers for the rest of the night. 

—

“ _El que habita al albrigo del Altísimo morará bajo la sombra del Omnipotente._ ”

Life goes on, as does the war. They win battles. They lose people. Preparations continue with the plan to strike at Zarkon and the heart of the Galra Empire with the help of the Olkari, the Blades, and the rebels.

Lance’s fingers slide to the next set of beads.

“ _Diré yo a tú, Dios mío, ‘Esperanza mía, y castillo mío; Mi Dios, en quien confiaré._ ’”

Another day, another mission. No more or less dangerous than any of the others before, nor the ones which will come after. This time they will free prisoners, bolster the rebellion forces, and put another dent in the Galra’s facilities. 

Another verse, another set of beads.

“ _Con sus plumas te cubrirá, y debajo de sus alas estarás seguro; escudo y adarga es su verdad._ ”

Footsteps echo, drawing nearer, and Lance feels his lips tug upward in a smile as he prays. He need not open his eyes to know who it is that steps into the room, whose weight he feels sink into the mattress besides where he kneels. 

He lifts one hand from his rosary and holds it out. Fingers slide in between his and close around them, warm and comforting. 

His other hand works the beads down to the next Decade.

“ _No temerás el terror nocturno, ni saeta que vuele de día._ ”

A thumb strokes the back of his palm as he continues. Patient, not urging. Reassuring Lance that although things can go wrong today, and probably will, that he’s not alone. Lance appreciates that more than he can express, and knows he doesn’t need to. 

One last set of beads.

“ _Ciertamente con tus ojos mirarás, y veras la recompensa de los impíos. Amén._ ”

Lance opens his eyes and lifts his chin, meeting Keith’s fond gaze. “Thanks for waiting,” he says, rising from his knees and leaning up to press a soft, lingering kiss to Keith’s lips. 

“Always,” Keith replies, smiling into the kiss. He doesn’t let go of Lance’s hand, even when he pulls away and stands from the bed. “You ready to head out?” 

Lance takes his rosary and laces it around his neck. Tucks it over his flight suit, but under his armor. Unconventional and a little blasphemous, wearing the rosary, but Lance won’t have it any other way. The crucifix rests against his heart. 

He smiles, big and bright. 

“Ready.”

**Author's Note:**

> I’m late I’m late for a very important date no time to say hello goodbye I’m late I’m late I’m late
> 
> (For Lancey Lance’s birthday. I hope you enjoyed this hastily-written and unbetaed piece of personal headcanon self-indulgence and celebrated the world’s very best blue boyo with me)
> 
> The spanish bits are Psalm 23 (The Lord is my Shepherd) and excerpts from Psalm 91 (The Soldier's Psalm), respectively.


End file.
